Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

by Saralee Rosenberg

Jessica was especially traumatized, since this possible split was coming at a most inconvenient time. Her bat mitzvah, the single most important event of her life, was scheduled for Thanksgiving weekend, a mere eight months away.

  She had dreamed forever about her gala Saturday-night black-tie party, racking her brains to come up with ideas that would make it so much nicer than Melanie Lipsky’s, who thought her reception was amazing because she had a band and a DJ, and the kids didn’t have to eat chicken fingers. They had their choice of Chateaubriand and pecan-crusted sea bass, just like the adults.

  Jessica would do better! She’d have the most awesome sushi bar and desserts from Serendipity. Plus, she already knew the dresses she would have designed (one for her service, one for her cocktail hour, one for her party); the invitations she wanted (no purple hearts and flowers); and the kids she’d invite versus the ones who had better pray to be on her guest list.

  But now if her stupid parents were splitting, it would not only ruin her big day, but her whole life, just like her friends whose parents had gotten divorced. In fact, Amanda Kreiger’s parents were fighting so bad, her mom supposedly took a piece of little Bella’s dog doody and put it in her husband’s chopped meat for dinner. “He gives me shit, I give it right back!”

  But Jessica’s parents weren’t like that. They still loved each other, they just liked to yell. And even if they didn’t still love each other, they loved her enough not to want to ruin her once in a lifetime bat mitzvah, right?

  Unfortunately, from the muffled shouting coming from her mom’s room, maybe Stacie had been right about them splitting.

  “He told me he wasn’t going to be there, okay?” Beth yelled. “He was just going to give me the keys and the directions.”

  “What am I? Stupid? ’Cause it’s a real believable story. A guy you meet at a bar says, yeah sure, here’s the keys to my house in the Hamptons. Have a nice day.”

  “What do you want me to say? That was the deal. I told him I was in a bad place right now and the last thing I needed was to complicate my life even further by getting involved.”

  “Really. A beautiful, married woman runs off and needs a place to stay, and he’s like, that’s cool. Help yourself to what’s in the fridge.”

  “That’s right.”

  “So then why did he dump you at a train station like you were garbage? Wasn’t such a nice guy anymore, I guess.”

  “He got weird on me, okay? He turned out to be a big liar like you. I made him drive me back. We didn’t have sex. You have to believe me.”

  “I don’t have to do anything, Beth. Why even bother pretending we’re trying to work things out? We’ve both been miserable for years and obviously you’ve already moved on or you wouldn’t have done anything this stupid. The girls were scared to death. You have no idea what went on here after you ran off. Total hysteria.”

  “Richard, stop! I am very sorry. How many times do I have to say it? I know it was a horrible thing to do, but you screw up all the time and I’m supposed to look the other way.”

  “And here it comes…Let’s get even time! Happy now?”

  “No, of course not, and trust me, if I really wanted revenge, I’ve had plenty of opportunities before this. Ask your good friend Marty. He hits on me constantly. And why is it so hard for you to understand I just needed time to think? I don’t know who I am or what I want anymore…. I’m always angry, I’m sick over the fact that the girls hate me so much…and believe me, you’ve made it very clear how you feel about me, too. All you ever do is complain that I’m this ungrateful bitch who spends money we don’t have, but I’m not the one who wanted to join the club, and I’m not the one who sabotaged their career by pissing off management and—”

  “Are you done, Beth? Because I can save us both a lot of time and trouble…I’m leaving.”

  “What do you mean ‘leaving’? Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere now. I’m staying in Portland.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s best this way. We’ll be out of each other’s hair.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “And you accuse me of being an actor! You know exactly what I’m saying…. I want a trial separation.”

  “A separation? I don’t believe this! Why do you get to leave? I should be the one who bails.”

  “That’s for the lawyers to work out.”

  “The lawyers? Oh my God, Richard! Why are you being such an asshole? You have nothing on me other than one brief instance of questionable judgment, which compared to the shit you’ve pulled was a joke: the calls from Connecticut when you were really in Vegas, the money you took from my dad to invest in the market, then blew on that piece of shit Jaguar. Oh, and let’s not forget your little indiscretion at the office. That was awesome taking money from our IRAs and paying those huge penalties so we could bribe your little friend before she filed a sexual harassment lawsuit. Well here’s a news story for you! Guess who is building that huge waterfront house over on Halyard? A woman divorce attorney. Can’t wait to invite her over for coffee.”

  “I don’t get it. You’ve done nothing but bitch for years that you’re miserable. Now I’m giving you an out and you’re pissed?”

  “I’m pissed that you’re so out of touch with reality that you think you can run away and everything is going to magically get better. Get help, Richard! How long have I been begging you? Ten years? Eleven? Even your bosses back then were on your case, remember? David and Sam came to the house with the list of the top shrinks at Bellevue and told you to take a leave of absence with full pay? And what did you do? You threatened to sue their asses if they ever mentioned it again.”

  “They weren’t trying to help me and you know it!” Richard shot back. “They were only trying to trap me into saying I needed counseling so they could legally fire me.”

  “I didn’t believe that then, and I don’t believe it now. But it’s a prime example of how you rationalize everything, how you delude—”

  “I’m not rationalizing anything. I admit I’ve screwed up, okay? But don’t bullshit me either. You lost interest in us years ago. Why shouldn’t I start over and take a job here?”

  “Because it would be one hell of a commute. I thought you went out there to pitch a new piece of business.”

  “I did. But two of the top guys here have been talking to me for months about joining the team, and this morning we shook on a deal.”

  “Really, this has been going on for months and you never mentioned a word. I’m sorry. I don’t believe you. I think it’s just another one of your bullshit stories.”

  “Fine. Don’t believe me, but I’m telling the truth. They offered me a senior VP position for a new digital media division and it’s a great opportunity. The money isn’t amazing, but in a year or two with all the stock options and profit sharing, I’ll be rolling in it. Not to mention you know I always liked the people here, their business philosophy—”

  “Oh my God. Would you listen to yourself? Their business philosophy? Wait until they find out that yours is taking three-hour liquid lunches, cheating on your expense reports, and blaming all your subordinates for screwing up.”

  “I knew you were too selfish to be happy for me.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say you want me to be happy for you? You fucking accepted a job all the way across the country without even discussing it with me!”

  “What was there to discuss? You’ll never leave New York and I want to start over. Besides, I’ve always loved it out West.”

  “That’s not the point, asshole! You don’t go and make a huge life-changing decision like this and spring it on me after it’s a done deal. What do you plan to tell the girls? Sorry, love you guys, but I’d rather be close to great skiing?”

  “No. I’ll tell them that if they want to, they can come out here with me.”

  “Oh, this just keeps getting better and better! You’re going to jump into a whole new career while taking complete responsibi
lity for raising them? I’m not sure if you noticed, but they’re a little old for day care! And wait until I’m not around to cover up for all your lies and nonsense and they realize their dad is a fuckup who can’t even give you the time without distorting the truth. Oh, and there’s one other small matter that apparently slipped your mind…. Jessica’s bat mitzvah is in less than a year. I do hope you can still make it!”

  “Of course I’ll make it. I’m leaving you, not her!”

  Fourteen

  As pocketbook parties went, it was a decent turnout, particularly after Karen’s cousin arrived with several friends from Dix Hills, the blinding-diamond capital of the world. They alone could make her night, yet as Mindy looked around, she saw more talking than shopping.

  Not good. Karen needed to move the merchandise or face David’s I-told-you-so speech. She’d been so sure that the ladies would go crazy over the selection, especially the red, quilted Chanel bag with the chain handle that, according to New York magazine was a favorite of those hungry-looking Olsen twins. But thus far, she had sold only two, and one was to Mildred Mayer, who kept asking about her return policy in the event her twelve-year-old granddaughter complained that the bag looked too fake to bring to school.

  Frankly, Mindy could never understand why women who thought nothing of dropping big bucks for Marc Jacobs and Louis Vuitton would bother with the knockoffs. “They all say the same thing,” Karen informed her. “I’m only buying this as a gift. Then I run into them at Bagel Boss and they’re wearing it. Who doesn’t love a bargain?” Everyone does, of course, but not nearly as much as they love gabbing.

  The ladies in skinny jeans sipped diet Coke while discussing breast implants, kitchen cabinets, the kids who got waitlisted at Brown, and the friend who lost twenty pounds on Weight Watchers thanks to the recipe for chocolate-cinnamon quesadillas.

  All seemingly harmless chitchat, until topic A turned to local gossip, which at the moment centered around the rumored split between power couple Beth and Richard Diamond. Everyone had an opinion.

  The marriage was a match made in hell. Richard had a good shot if he sued for joint custody, and in a unanimous vote, the women expressed disappointment that the once-sweet Jessica had morphed into her mother, right down to her unapologetic ambition and inherent sense of entitlement.

  Given Mindy and Beth’s history of conflicts, no one would ever expect to hear Mindy defend her, particularly since she had proven to be such a reliable source (yes, there’s another Dumpster in front of the house, no, Richard did not buy that Harley, he’s just test-driving it).

  Now, as an insider, she saw things differently. The spread of gossip was viral, contaminating what would otherwise have been a sterile gathering. Yet rather than making people sick, it only masked the infectious belief that they were morally superior.

  The irony was not lost on Mindy that at this very moment, Stacie was upstairs finishing a book report on the late Margaret Mead. She wondered what the famed anthropologist would have concluded had she immersed herself in the world of the upscale suburban mom, as she had done in a village of Samoan women back in the 1920s.

  In their native habitats (a middle-class upbringing), these women appear to have normal behavior patterns that include conformity and good manners. But once they marry well and trade up to five-thousand-square-foot houses, it can lead to major attitudinal changes insofar as self-importance and superiority, particularly if their husbands receive a Wall Street bonus.

  This attitudinal change may last until the husband leaves the wife for a younger woman, or a younger man, or until the couple retires to Boca while still supporting their children. Though this is associated with stress and confusion resulting in a need for anti-anxiety pills, as long as the woman gets to keep the Mercedes and the co-op in New York, in time she will recover, particularly if her ex drops dead.

  “Well, last summer we were out on Fire Island and bumped into Richard with this girl who he said was his assistant, but she sure wasn’t using her hands to type.”

  Mindy moved closer. This little powwow she had to hear.

  “Can you blame him? Beth is so mean to him. We used to go out with them all the time but we couldn’t take her anymore. This one time we were having dinner at a great little place in SoHo and she started yelling at him because the poor guy wanted to order dessert. It was disgusting.”

  “Oh, I know, she’s insane with the whole sugar thing. Emma once came over to play with Ali and I gave them leftover birthday cake for a snack, and the next day Beth is yelling at me, ‘Why would you feed them junk before dinner? What’s wrong with fresh fruit?’”

  “Well remember when she circulated that stupid petition trying to ban cupcakes from class parties? Oh, and no more bake sales either. Wasn’t she ever a kid?”

  “No wonder she likes Marsha Majors. I heard she makes her kids keep a food journal, then checks it every night to make sure they’re not pigging out. Like they’re really gonna tell the truth!”

  “Wait. Speaking of petitions, wasn’t she the one who wanted to remove books from the school library because they promoted sexual promiscuity? Then everyone found out she was having an affair with the principal?”

  “No!” they all replied. “That was Marjorie Young!”

  After Karen finally packed up and left, Mindy looked at the mess in the kitchen and said screw it until morning. After the day she’d had, she was entitled to take a hot shower, climb into bed with a big bowl of Lucky Charms, and watch last night’s American Idol on Tivo.

  But just as she armed the alarm, she spotted a tall figure with a fast gait approaching the back door. Please be a burglar, she thought.

  “Sorry to bother you.” Beth coughed. “You must be exhausted.”

  “Comatose is more like it.” She yawned for effect, but stared at Beth as if she was catching a rare glimpse of a lunar eclipse. She looked so homely without hair and makeup, and dare Mindy say, old?

  “I can’t believe how much happened today,” Beth fidgeted, looking over Mindy’s shoulder to see if any of her kids were still up.

  “Yup.” Please make this short. I’m so tired and I want my Lucky Charms.

  “Could we talk?”

  Crap! What if the windows in the den were open and she’d heard everything? “Sure.”

  What little time Beth had spent in this kitchen, her routine was to wipe the crumbs off the chairs and check for food on the floor. Tonight, however, out of respect, she refrained from making faces. “So how was it? Did she have nice stuff?”

  “I guess, but I’m probably not the best judge. I don’t pay enough attention to the real bags to know if the fakes are any good.”

  “Looked like you had a lot of people though. Did she sell enough to shut David up?”

  “It took a while, but most people ended up buying something. And then this one lady showed up with her daughter and bought like ten bags so that was good, but oh my god, was she obnoxious. I heard she got into Penn early decision, but obviously it wasn’t based on a personal interview or using SAT words. All she said was, ‘ew, gross’ and ‘um, noooo.’”

  “Sounds about right. So what did you pick out for you?”

  “This.” Mindy fetched the Chanel bag. “Karen said it’s the hottest thing.”

  “Wow!” Beth examined it with the eye of a jeweler. “It’s a great fake. You can’t even tell.”

  “I guess that’s the whole idea, not that I understand why anyone would spend a ton of money on a designer bag that’s as mass produced as the ones I get at Target. And don’t hate me for saying this, but every time I see someone wearing Coach or Louis Vuitton, I think, wow, you just gave me permission to judge you. You’re insecure, shallow, you can’t think for yourself—”

  “Really. So if one day I gave you one of my Michael Kors bags, you’d say no thanks?”

  “Well no, I guess not. I mean I like nice things too, but—”

  “Richard is leaving me!” Beth blurted. “He took a job at Nike just like you s
aid.”

  “What? Mindy had to let that sink in. “Oh my God!”

  “Mommmm!” Stacie yelled. “Tell the little bee-ach to get out of my room. I don’t have her freakin’ iPod!”

  “Sorry, hold on.” Mindy ran to the foyer. “Jamie! Get out of Stacie’s room. You were supposed to be in bed an hour ago. You’ve got the Terra Nova tests in the morning.”

  “Are your kids usually up this late?” Beth sniffed.

  “Unfortunately, yes. Just hold on. I’ll go get my stun gun and be down in a second.”

  When Mindy returned, it was to a spotless kitchen. “Wow. Can you start tomorrow?”

  “Don’t laugh.” Beth threw out a cup. “I may need a job…hopefully one that doesn’t require hairnets or time cards.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t even know where to start.” Beth gazed outside. “Can I make some tea?”

  “Sure…if you promise not to insult me by rinsing out the cup first.”

  “Stop. I’m not that bad.” She looked in the kettle. “Oy. When’s the last time you used this?”

  “The Boston Tea Party.” Mindy sat down.

  “Sorry…I have this thing about being sanitary. I’d hate to start an outbreak of typhus.”

  “Knock yourself out…as long as you don’t ask me to get up again.”

  “Sure.” Beth sighed. “Can I get you something?”

  “A case of beer and a straw.”

  “Too fattening. I’ll make you some tea.”

  “I hate tea.”

  “You’ll love mine. It’s a special blend of…,” she began as she searched the cabinets. “Where are the tea bags?”

  “You mean tea bag.” Mindy rested her head on the table. “It’s around here somewhere. Jamie and Ricky were playing catch with it this morning.”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “Yes I’m joking…third cabinet on the right, bottom shelf…the only one I like is peppermint, and only after you add hot chocolate.”

  “You’re very funny.” Beth went into action. “I can’t believe we were never close.”